


Percy - More courage to live

by NBvagabond



Series: Vox Machina - Mortality and Emotions [1]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Self-Harm, Spoilers for episode 64, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, seriously please be careful with this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-15
Updated: 2016-09-15
Packaged: 2018-08-14 18:29:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8024485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NBvagabond/pseuds/NBvagabond
Summary: “But in the end one needs more courage to live than to kill himself.” - Albert Camus
Percy has his own way of dealing with his mental problems, and Vox Machina has their way of helping him.
//spoilers up to and including ep 64, tw for suicidal thoughts, suicide attempts, self harm, character death





	Percy - More courage to live

**Author's Note:**

> So, yeah, this isn't a happy fic. seriously, it deals with some pretty heavy stuff. guess it says something about me that writing this is how I cope when I feel like this but. yeah. be careful
> 
> i also don't have a beta so apologies for any mistakes, please let me know if you find any?

Percival never really had much care for his own life. When he was a child, he would hide himself away in his room, tinkering and creating and occasionally injuring himself. On the days when his brain was turned against him and made him feel like he was worthless, he wouldn't make anything in particular, just work with his tools until he slipped up and hurt himself. It wouldn't be too bad, just a small cut or light burn. But it was enough to make him feel properly again, and eventually the pain, both physical and mental, would fade.  
The older he got, the more physical pain he needed to balance out the mental.  
When his family died, he couldn't fix the pain with cuts and burns. Even the freezing water of the river did nothing but pull him away from consciousness. The day he woke up, lying on a snowy bank, he wanted to jump back in. The next day, he did. He held himself under, feeling himself start to shake in the ice water. Finally, he pulled himself out, gasping for breath.  
The next day, he swore, he would stay under until his mind went dark, until the pain stopped. The next day, the pain was still there. But the urge to drown wasn't as strong. The day after, he swore. A week later, filled with promises of freezing and drowning, Percy had a dream, and that hurt enough.

The next time he feels like dying is with the SHITs, and they're still, slowly, becoming friends. It's the two year anniversary of his family's death and Percy claws at his arms till they are red and raw, but it isn't enough. He wants to take one of his guns and fire it through his aching brain, or slide one of Vax's daggers across his skin until it all stops.  
He opens the door from his tavern room, pistol in hand, breathing shaky, when he bumps into Keyleth.  
She sees through his claims of ‘taking a walk’ instantly, but she doesn't press too hard. Instead, she guides him to a small flower garden just outside the city, and he talks, and, surprisingly, it helps. He doesn't even notice that, when she hugs him, she slides the gun out of his hand and into her pocket.  
For once, he doesn't need more pain to stop hurting. He isn't entirely sure what it was that Keyleth gave him, it was an emotion he hadn't felt in far too long. But it worked.

The third time he feels like dying is after Pike does. She comes back, of course, but he can’t look at her without feeling an overwhelming swell of fear. This time, it’s a rope, and he runs it between his hands, pulling it tight. It burns across his flesh, but he still wants more. Vox Machina are staying in the castle of Emon, and Percival inspects his room. The wooden slats in his room are perfect for what he wants. Needs?  
He is still running the rope across his skin when there is a knock on his door. He considers ignoring it, but he doesn’t.  
Tiberius is standing at his door. The dragonborn looks at Percy with something close to pity in his eyes, and for some reason Percy is thankful for that. Tiberius takes Percy into the library and reads to him in Common and Draconic. Later, Percy can’t remember what the books were about, but he remembers Tiberius’s warm body, the heat overcoming the numbing pain from Pike’s death.

The fourth time is when Percy kills the first person on his List. Kerrion Stonefell is dead and there’s smoke pouring from Percy’s gun and mask and coat. Vex holds his hand.  
That night, he holds the pistol in his hands, staring at the empty barrel. He told the others it’s for all the casualties along the way, not himself. Right now, he’s not sure if there’s a difference.  
Vex’s hand in his is a memory, a slight tingle where she held him. Her sitting next to him is different - that’s real, it’s happening in that moment. She doesn’t say anything, but watches him closely. Eventually, he puts the gun down, and leans his head on her shoulder. His hand still feels strange, but that, combined with her body so close to him, keeps him from picking the gun up again that night.

The fifth time is after Vox Machina defeat the Briarwoods. He failed Cassandra, all those years ago, no matter what she says. He let this happen to her. He let himself get corrupted by that sick demon. He is sitting on his bed, thoughts running through his head far too fast to process, when he starts hurting himself, trying to cover up the screaming in his head with screaming from his skin. He bites at his lip till it bleeds, claws at his arms with blunt nails. He is too far gone to hear the door open, curled in on himself as he keeps scratching. He does, however, feel Vax’s arm’s on his torso, warm and solid, making him stop his frantic movements.  
Vax is quiet, as he often is. Looking at him, Percy can see pale marks on Vax’s forearms, scars from years ago. Vax pulls Percy close, holding him tight. By the time Percy wakes up, Vax is gone, but there is a note beside Percy’s head.  
_You have a family. Don’t let her down. Don’t let us down._

The sixth time, he knows it really is his fault. He charged ahead to investigate the tomb, without thinking of the consequences And he had gotten Vex killed. Vax had punched him, which had been good, but not enough. He needed more, deserved more. Vex had died, for Pelor’s sake, Percy deserved to die as well. He considered going under the city, to the Ziggurat, to just put his hand in and see what happened. He had made it halfway down the hall when he felt a heavy hand on his shoulder. Turning around, he found Grog, staring down at him with concern.  
“Let me go, please, Grog,” he said, doing his best to keep his voice calm.  
“Vex said to keep an eye on you,” Grog replied, clearly not falling for Percy’s bullshit. “So come with me.”  
Grog lead Percy to the training courtyard, which seemed vastly different at midnight to midday. He handed percy a wooden sword, picking one up himself. “I get it.” Grog said, standing ready for an attack, “It helps to hurt. So hurt.”  
Despite being untrained with a sword, Percy attacked. Grog was right, it helped to hurt. They spent hours in the courtyard, hitting each other black and blue.

The seventh time was also Percy’s fault. If he had just gotten rid of the bullshit sword, it wouldn’t have stabbed Pike, and it wouldn’t have fucking killed Grog. Percy is lying awake in Scanlan’s mansion, staring at the ceiling. He wondered if the servants would stop him if he tried to hang himself with his sheets. He doesn’t get the chance to try, because there is a knock at his door. He doesn’t get up, but Scanlan lets himself in. He’s holding a small lute in one hand, and his face is shadowed with worry. He doesn’t say anything, and neither does Percy. Scanlan crawls onto the bed, sitting next to Percy’s prone figure. He begins to strum on the lute, something slow and sweet. Percy closes his eyes to listen. When he opens them next, there is a gnome, asleep, and curled into his side, clutching his shirt.

The eighth time is more intense than any other time. Tiberius is dead and not just for a few moments, their dragonborn friend is dead and frozen, slaughtered by Vorugal while defending his home. Despite it not being his fault, for once, Percy can’t stop the overwhelming guilt. He thinks about Tiberius’s body, skewered on an icicle, and wonders if he could steal Grog’s javelin and use that, shove it through his own abdomen to feel the same.  
He thought about Tiberius facing the snowy white dragon, the freezing cold of the ravine, and wonders if he should find an ice river, just like his very first attempt.  
He thinks about how no one has told Pike yet, and decides that, no matter what he does next, she needs to know first.  
His walk to her temple is slow and shaky. In the doorway, he stops for a moment and watches. She’s the only one in there, kneeling before the statue of Sarenrae. Even in the faint torchlight, Pike seems to glow.  
“Pike,” he tries to say, but it comes out raspy and almost silent. She still hears, and turns around.  
“Percy,” her voice is soft, but worried, “what is it? What’s wrong?”  
She making her way to him at this point, quickly. As soon as he feels he feels her small hand on his, he collapses to his knees.  
She hold him, letting him press his head to her shoulder.  
“We found Tiberius. His body,” his voice is still barely more than a whisper, but he feels Pike stiffen for a moment.  
Slowly, she sinks to her knees, pulling Percy with her onto her lap. They are sitting in the doorway to the temple, arms wrapped around each other, silent tears falling. There is something about Pike that makes Percy want to stay, need to stay with her. With all of Vox Machina. He knows that they are there when he mosts needs them, and him for them.


End file.
